


Burned

by selfmanic



Series: Head Cannon - Clint Barton [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:24:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selfmanic/pseuds/selfmanic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton has been coping since the final battle with Loki. Will having his fellow Shield agents attacking him push him too far?</p><p> </p><p>***This is a separate story in my Clint Barton Head Cannon and not related to any other work in this category***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ch. 1

Ch. 1

 

Clint made his way into the elevator with a sigh, slumping in one corner as he waited for it to reach the common floor. It seemed to be going slower than normal. Even Stark elevators took a few seconds to arrive somewhere since they had to limit themselves to safety regulations like everywhere else right? Clint had to remind himself that the elevator was not slowing down on purpose, he was just exhausted.

What should have been a quick in and out mission had turned into a week long nightmare. Clint spent six days stuffed into an impossible position inside the tiny drop ceiling of a remote Hydra lab. What had been meant to be a simple surveillance mission turned into a one man crusade to destroy the base once his cover was blown. Damn dust bunnies.

He staggered out of the elevator, shouldering his bags again and trying to ignore how tight and knotted his shoulders really were. Mentally cursing Stark, he made his way to the next elevator, the one that actually went to their floors. Yeah, it made sense to have a way to lock access to their floors but damn was it annoying when you were tired.

Clint paused half way across the floor, distracted by a sudden beam of light hitting him in the eyes,  making him flinch and almost pull a knife. Damn, his reactions were shot to hell. Time to sleep, he mused while scanning the room, the last thing he needed was for the team to be watching him stagger around. Thankfully the room was empty and quiet.

He eyed where someone had moved the lounger section of the couch next to the window with longing. It would be really nice to curl up in the sunshine for a while. Too bad he was still covered in every kind of grime imaginable from the mission. He had planned to clean up and shower on base only to be dragged straight from the plane to his debrief. Hell, he still had camo paint smearing his blonde hair to his head, blood and other substances all over his generic shield uniform, and mud covering his pants and boots from the ten mile hike to the extraction point..

He had spent the ride back typing out his mission report on a tablet so that he could leave as soon as he was debriefed. The debrief had lasted hours and considering he had been overseas the flight had been even longer. He was punch drunk and running on fumes long before he ever hit US soil. Showering probably should have been his main priority but considering how little sleep he had been able to get in the active lab’s ceiling he could forgive himself for brushing off the fact that Stark could afford to replace the damn sofa if he really was bothered by the smell.

He dropped his bags next to the couch and curled up, facing the cushions, not even bothering to take off his boots.The sun warmed his back and shoulders, loosening muscles and lulling him asleep in moments. He slept hard, exhaustion pulling him deeper than he would ever normally sleep in a public area.

Even deep asleep, instincts that had been trained in to the point of muscle memory took over. A light touch on one shoulder had Clint moving before his brain could process the situation. He twisted in place, coiling his leg inward and lashing out, using his entire body as leverage. Even as the person was catapulted across the room, Clint was rolling, a knife and gun pulled and at the ready as his back smacked into the cold glass of the windows.

Clint blinked at the scene in front of him. Bruce was hurrying over to check on Steve, who was gasping for air on the floor to one side after taking the kick to his chest and abdomen, mud clearly outlining where his feet had struck. Stark of course was yelling at everyone. Clint ran a hand across his face trying to jump start his brain and flinched slightly when he hit grime and a small cut, right, he was still filthy from the mission and apparently still on a hair trigger from spending a week straight in mission mode.

“Steve, you okay?” Clint asked, glancing between him and Stark, not sure how the billionaire would react to being attacked in his home...wait, that had already happened, several times. Stark normally killed the people who did that. Right, maybe his reaction wasn’t so far off the mark.

“Fine.” Steve wheezed. “I should have known better than to try and wake a spy.”

“Normally it wouldn’t have mattered. You caught me on an off day.” Clint said with a grimace.His voice was still rough with disuse. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t woken up the second they entered the room.

“Off day my ass.” Stark snapped. “You going to do this after every mission Shield sends you on?”

“No, only the clusterfucks.” Clint snapped back. “Listen, I’m wrecked. I didn’t mean to even sleep down here. I’ll get out of the way.” He grabbed his bags and headed toward the elevator, trying to ignore how ever muscle had decided to lock up now that the initial adrenaline was wearing off.

“You’re welcome to stay. We were meeting up to get some dinner anyway.” Bruce said softly, making his way to the attached kitchen.

“No, thanks. I’m good.” Clint said forcing a tired grin at the doctor as he stepped on the elevator and punched for his floor.

A few hours later Tony glanced up from the tablet he was working on to find that the dinner was long put away and only Bruce remained, reading a book on the couch.

“Steve head to bed?”

“Gym, I think.” Bruce said, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

“The Hawk come back down at all?”

“Not that I have seen.”

“Jarvis, what has our local bird of prey been up to?” He asked, ignoring the long suffering sigh that came from the other room.

“Agent Barton has showered and eaten a protein bar. He is currently stretching.”

“Stretching? For how many hours has he been stretching?”

“Approximately two hours.”

“Seriously? This I have to see, put it on the main screen.”

“Tony.” Bruce said with a sigh as the engineer plopped down on the couch next to him.

“What? Tell me you aren't interested?”

“What happened to not monitoring your house guests every move?”  
“That went out the window as soon as he attacked Steve.” Tony said with a snort. “Damn, he’s flexible.” They watched in stunned silence as the archer contorted his body like a professional contortionist.

“Does he do this often, J?”

“At least once a day, that I have observed, sir.”

“Wait, who is he talking to?” Tony asked, squinting at the screen.

“I have been updating Agent Barton on the happenings in the tower and on the general news headlines for the last week.”

“Guess being in a snipers nest for a week leaves you out of the loop.” Tony said with a huff. “Okay, enough voyeurism. Kill the feed, Jay, but keep my standard mental and physical health screen going. The last thing we need is a assassin flaking out with PTSD.”

“Of course, sir.” Jarvis said, his voice soft and almost sounding resigned. Tony wandered off, collecting his tablet and taking the elevator down to his lab. Bruce waited pretending to be reading until he was sure Tony was in his lab and working.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, Dr. Banner?”

“Do you keep track of everyone’s health in the building?”

“I monitor the vitals of all occupants of the tower however once a baseline is established it consists of minimal scans unless an abnormal finding is noted.”

“So you could monitor my blood pressure and heart rate and alert the team if it trips into the red zone?”  
“If you mean the general area where you change into the Hulk, then yes, I can do so if you are willing to provide me with the necessary parameters.”

“I’ll get you the ranges tomorrow. Might should talk with Steve and Tony and see if they want to add a general alert or something. Thank you, Jarvis.”

“You are most welcome, Dr. Banner.”

 

***

 

The next morning Tony stumbled into the kitchen, looking at the sleep disheveled Bruce and Steve whose hair was still wet from his shower.

“Great, gang’s all here. Who's for pancakes?” Tony asked pouring himself a large cup of coffee.

“What about Barton?” Steve asked, glancing up like he could see where the archer was sleeping.

“Let’s ask? Jarvis? Is the Hawk up?”

“He is, sir.”

“Great toss up a visual and ask him if he wants breakfast.”

Steve gives a scandalized sounding, “Tony.” that he mocks back with an over the top, “Steve!”

The screen comes up and Bruce takes a small breath of surprise once he finds the archer. Clint is perched on one of the high beams in his living room, couched and waiting. As they watch he nods, says something to Jarvis and simply lets himself tumble off the beam. Everyone jerks like they could get through eight levels of concrete and steel to catch the man before he lands but Clint twists smoothly and lands before walking off just as carefree.

“Right, grew up in the circus. Need to remember that.” Tony murmured, turning away from the screen as it went blank. “Wait, he was dressed, like fully dressed.”

“People generally do that when they get up. Tony.” Bruce pointed out with a sigh.

“Yeah, but how do we know that he didn’t sleep like that?”

“If he did than it’s no business of ours. I knew a lot of soldiers in the war who picked up unusual habits on the front lines. It never changed who they were or how they fought.” Steve said, glaring slightly at the other man. Moments later the archer joined them as they were settling back down with cups of coffee or juice in Steve’s case.

“So...breakfast was mentioned?” Clint asked, peeking inside the fridge and taking stock of what was on hand.  
“Yeah, what do you guys want to order? J, pull up some menus.”

“Seriously?” Clint asked, starting to pull out ingredients. “You have enough here to feed an army. Pancakes?”

“Sure, let me help.” Bruce said moving to pull down several frying pans and get butter melting in several. He tossed a bag of bread to Steve for him to load the toaster since he was closer. Clint handed off a bowl of pancake batter to Bruce and started making bacon and scrambled eggs. They all blinked in surprise when he passed over the pancakes everyone else was doctoring up with butter and syrup and made himself a small plate of fruit, toast, and egg whites.

“On a health kick?”  
“Just not into it today.” Clint said with a shrug.

They ate mostly in silence, none of them really trying to start a conversation beyond vague comments about the food or what they had planned that day. Clint scraped up the last bits of egg from his place and stole a piece of bacon from Bruce. He washed his plate quickly before heading to the gym, murmuring a quick goodbye to his team mates. He got set up on a treadmill and asked Jarvis to alert him when it was time for dinner, he doubted he would notice without someone yelling at him in the state he was in.

He had only gotten about three hours of sleep last night and those had been nightmare filled. Dreams of his childhood, Loki, and missions gone bad had mixed and blurred until he was laying there being beaten by his father while Coulson and the other Avengers looked on. He had finally given up and started exercising for a while before he climbed to perch on the ceiling beams.

It was amazing how many issues he could work his way through while in what Natasha called his sniper mode. By locking his body in position and his gaze on an object or person for hours, he was able to let his mind wander. It often lead to him noticing some small detail that stopped a mission from going haywire.

Once the dust had settled from the battle with Loki, and the doctors were reasonably certain that he was completely free of any kind of mind control, Clint had been sent on mission after mission for Shield and a few interdepartmental jobs for other agencies. He cleaned up after the crime syndicates and masterminds that thought to step up operations while Shield was down for the count, making sure they would not make that mistake again.

Most people thought he was just a dumb sniper who pulled the trigger when someone told him to. They never saw the planning that he did behind the scenes of all the ops he went on and often even ops that he never set foot in the country the op was happening. Coulson had pulled him in on other ops that struck the handler as potentially troublesome, trusting in the archer to see the small details that could make or break a mission.

It all added up to the fact that he had not been spending a lot of time at the tower since the battle. He was either somewhere in town helping organize repair crews or out of the country on missions. Natasha was not much better, she had been running around the globe tracking down alien tech that people were trying to sell on the black market.

With Coulson gone, Fury had added Clint to his person pool of agents so that he was getting handed around, back and forth, from handler to handler depending on the mission. He was sent where Fury needed him to go. It lead to mission after mission with little down time and even less time to get out of the head space the he existed in during solo missions, all focus and drive with no time to relax.

Thanks to this latest clusterfuck of a mission he was off the rotation for two weeks before Fury was allowed to send him out again thanks to what the docs were calling possible psychological damage. If a single mission going bad did psychological damage than he should be utterly insane by now, right? Ten years of Shield should have fried every brain cell he had at the rate he normally worked.

A shrill sound pulled him out of his steady pace, hand snapping out to hit the stop button without conscious thought. Clint stepped off the treadmill and controlled his breathing through sheer will, slowing the heart beat that was hammering in his ears. The gym was empty though he vaguely remembered several of the team members coming in at different points.

“I apologize for disturbing you, Agent Barton. It is thirty minutes until the normal time the team eats dinner together. I thought you might wish to clean up before joining them.”

“Thanks, Jarvis. If the team asks I’ll be down in a bit.” He said, his voice steady and breathing even.

Clint made his way to his floor and stripped down for his shower, surveying the damage before he ducked under the water. He started to shake as the burn of overworked muscles, strained tendons, and feet pounded raw started to come into focus. Coulson had hated the way that Clint turned himself off while he was training or on a long haul mission. Injuries and necessary body functions were ignored until he came out of the trance like state, normally after the final debrief. Coulson had liked to push him out of the state as soon as he hit a safe house but Clint had always fought coming down while there was even a chance of danger remaining.

Ever since coming to the Tower he had not been able to fully relax. This was not home to him, not even at the level that Shield base had once been. Maybe if Natasha had been there to watch his back he could have gotten a little sleep but she was still out chasing down black market dealers and would be for the next few months it seemed.

He eyed the packages that had been delivered with a frown. They had to attend some kind of fundraiser for helping rebuild New York. The suit delivered was his normal for black tie events, well fitted but with room to move, extra pockets, and the jacket was stab proof and more resistant to bullets than normal. Strangely, the only thing different was the color. Normally he went full black tie but this time he was in a more modern looking dark grey suit with a pale shirt and purple tie so dark it was almost black.

He would case the place it was going to be held later tonight after dinner, he decided, starting to pack a small go bag of things he might need. Rope and a few extra weapons and bits of tactical gear went into the small backpack along with the normal things he never went anywhere without, water, a few protein bars, medical kit, cash and fake IDs. In Shield you learned to be prepared for anything, even if it was just a cake walk mission. Those kind of missions had a tendency to dump you into a drug den full of thugs with machine guns, half naked, with three bullets and a tie pin to your name.

Dinner was thankfully quiet and quickly over, most of them begging off on a movie, citing the busy day they were going to have tomorrow. Clint headed to his rooms to change and gather up his bag before slipping out the tower. He never was completely sure if he was successful in evading detection from the AI but Jarvis never failed to greet the agent once he was back in camera range.

The ballroom where the event was to be held was dark and still as Clint moved about the space looking at sight lines and deciding where to move security. Stark supposedly controlled the guest list and background check for everyone present but Clint knew all too well how easy it was to slip past those safeguards. He had snuck into a number of Stark’s event before the Avengers were ever a thought.  He absently wondered if Stark even knew about the hit on him that Clint had almost accepted while he was running around as a mercenary. Did he know that Clint had watched the man for days before turning down the job?

He finished jotting down the recommended changes and sent them in an email to Sitwell. Hopefully they would get implemented in time for the party tomorrow night but he never knew how Shield was going to treat him these days.  Some missions he was left alone to do his job, everyone avoiding him like he was scum, others he was treated the same as always, a valued member of Shield but one that they knew could be ordered to take them out if it was necessary. He wasn’t sure which one he preferred. He never had many friends but having no one to watch his back during a mission was exhausting.

The next day the team was called into a meeting with their handler, Agent Jasper Sitwell, to go over the final details for the fundraiser that night. After an hour of rather ineffective powerpoints and watching the microsleep that Bruce was getting in one corner Clint took over. Pulling up a blueprint of the ballroom and having Jarvis project it over the table, he began pointing out where each agent was assigned and the general areas the undercover agents would be wandering. He paused for a moment before he started rattling off all the numbers he had sent Sitwell the night before, Jarvis noting each position with a red dot.

“You memorized that when exactly?” Stark asked in the following silence. Steve and Bruce were looking at him like he had grown a second head. Great, back to being the freak.

“I scouted the location last night.” Clint said with a sigh, rubbing at his eyes. “Everything look good to you, Jasper?”

“A bit over the top but considering who’s attending I think we can go with it. Being over prepared is never a bad thing.”

“Wait a minute. How did you do that?”

“Do what exactly?”

“Explain in five minutes what Sitwell took an hour to get us all confused about.”

“It’s a gift.” Clint said with a snort, gathering up his moleskin and tablet. He still needed to go over several up and coming ops and send in his recommendations along with find time to meet up with R&D about some new ballistics gear that needed to be field tested.

“No, seriously. Where did you learn that?” Stark pressed.

“Coulson.” Clint said over his shoulder as he left the room with a small nod to Sitwell and the others.

 


	2. Ch. 2

 

Ch. 2

 

The fundraiser was in full swing when Tony finally managed to pry Steve away from his fifth tipsy rich widower looking for a night with an american hero. It was painful to watch how stiff he went as the teasing touches and flirting got bolder and bolder. Bruce was stuffed into a corner with another scientist discussing string theory so Tony left him to it.

“Seen Legolas yet?” Tony asked, handing Steve a scotch glass. “Don’t worry, it’s club soda with lime.”

“The last two I got from the bar were rather foul.” He muttered with a grimace, taking a tiny sip and then a larger one once he had tasted it. “Thanks. Clint was at the bar last time I looked.”

“Not now, I was just there.”

“He’s over by the far wall.”

“Let’s go visit our shy duckling.” Tony said with a grin, tugging Steve along after him. Clint watched them approach for a moment before going back to scanning the room.

“How’s tricks, Merida? We might have to get you out more often if you dress like that.” He said with a leer. “Having fun?”

“This scene isn’t really my idea of fun, Stark.”

“Well you seem to be getting around. I’ve talked to ten different women and four men gushing over your witty conversation and good looks.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“Why?”

“I’m trained to make as little impression as possible. Ask them what we talked about, what my name was and they will have no idea. Just that they talked to a guy of average height who’s blond and wearing a suit. That description fits half the room.”

“Right, spy.” Tony said with a huff. “You’re at a gala filled with every high profile millionaire and well to do actor or actress in the country and you're worried about being recognized. You need to loosen up a little, relax and have a drink.”

“At least I didn’t invite international jewel thieves to the party or bartenders that try to roofie their superhero guests.” He said pushing away from the wall. “And I don’t drink.”

“What?”

“Already taking care of it.” He said, his entire demeanor changing as he moved, a sudden smile lighting up his face and making him look years younger as he moved from group to group, schmoozing his way through the crowd like a pro.

“What exactly is a roofie?” Steve asked in shock, watching the archer move through the crowd.

“I’ll explain it later.” Tony said with a sigh. “At least we know they don’t work on you now. Win, win, right?”

Clint made his way to the thief he knew only as Titania, giving her a blinding smile as he asked her to dance. They slid onto the dance floor perfectly instride. They kept the comments light and innocent until they were pressed against each other and moving.

“Funny seeing you here.” She murmured in his ear, pressing a teasing kiss to his neck.

“Somehow I doubt you were on the official guest list, Titania.” He said changing the tempo of their dance and forcing her to give a quick hop to catch up.

“Planning to toss a girl out of the party for window shopping?” She asked, turning in a quick spin and forcing him to change to a sudden gliding quick step.

They spun in the small space available, easily darting between and around the other dancers who gradually began making way for the couple. She was being showy and drawing attention just because she knew he hated it. He flashed her a feral smile, all teeth and promise of pain before he threw her into a dip and let the traq dig into the back of her neck.

He pulled her upright and walked her off the floor, smiling and waving off assistance until he could hand her over to two of the undercover agents wandering room. Not bad for a few hours work. One international jewel thief, several small time pickpockets,  one heiress that was stealing jewelry off of the men she danced with, one ex of Starks who had intended to cause a scene and a bartender trying to roofie an American Icon.

Thankfully the rest of the night is just a handful of drunks and one small fight over someone’s ex-lover which he lets the other agents handle. Clint keeps the mask up, wandering about the room making small talk and wishing he could drop the act. Without Coulson in his ear keeping a steady stream of distraction from the inane chatter or Natasha mirroring him on the other side of the room leaving every man in the room panting after her he was fighting to keep the light smile on his face, to keep the bitter, biting tone out of his voice. God, he was tired, tension coiled his back and shoulders tight.

He found his own way back to the tower once Sitwell cut him loose. Ditching the tie and jacket, he hopped up on a counter and let himself indulge in a small craving for having a mission go exactly right for once. The rest of the team wandered in as he finished setting up his plate. He snagged a fruit fig newton and left the plate on the counter, wandering to grab the water he had left in the living room area earlier that day. He bit into the cookie with a happy hum.

“Midnight snacks?” Steve asked eying the plate left out.

“Need to get your own if you’re hungry. I only got out enough for me.” Clint said with a small grin, pulling himself back up onto the counter. The others quickly pulled out bags of chips and such and settled in to munch.

“Is that seriously all you’re going to eat?” Tony asked eying the small plate with three fig newtons, four triscuits, and a handful of small cheese slices.

“It’s not a treat if you eat a ton of it, Stark.” Clint said with a sigh, eating a cracker and twisting the lid off his water one handed.

“Are you watching your weight or something?”

“Nah, I just eat a lot of crap on missions so when I get back I like to try and make up for it a bit.”

“You don’t get to eat the local cuisine when you travel?” Bruce asked, he was in the middle of making a rather large sandwich on rye. “That was my favorite part of traveling, trying so many different foods and dishes. India was great for that.”

“It depends on the mission. Sometimes we go in a infiltrate a drug den and than we have to go completely local, eating the food, shopping, the whole bit but most of my ops are being stuck on a roof or up a tree watching what’s happening below for days while munching on MRE’s.”

“So do you cook much?”

“Some. Natasha normally makes me cook when she’s in town. Most of the time I get by on take out or diner food on the road between missions. Lately Shield's been too busy to let us drive anywhere, those are normally the better trips.”

“Wait a minute, why do you keep calling me Stark? You’ve been living here like three months.”

“And in three months I’ve only been here like six days. Sorry, if I’m not used to calling you by your first name.”

“Six days?” Steve interrupted. “That can’t be right.”

“I have no idea what you guys think I have been doing but I’ve only stayed the night in the tower twice before this week. The rest was rushing by between ops to drop off clothes and pick up weapons.”

“That can’t be right. Back me up, Jarvis, you’ve done other meals with us right?”

“Once or twice between missions.”

“Sir, I can concur that Agent Barton has only spent roughly six days in the tower. In truth the time is closer to five.”

“Rounding, Jarvis. It’s a human thing.”

“So you’ve been working non-stop for three months? Doing what, nonstop wetwork?”

“Not really. I also got sent on two inspection runs, those are really low key.” Clint said polishing off his last piece of cheese and chugging his water. He washed the plate quickly and put it in the drainer, ignoring the chip bag that Stark was waving at him.

“So why are you not joining the team for meals the last few days? I know you haven’t had anything delivered. You're not a food hoarder or bulimic or something that we need to know about?”

Clint froze for an instant in gathering up his coat and tie before turning back to Stark.

“Excuse me?” He asked, voice low and steady. Natasha would have already been pulling a gun, Coulson already reaching to pull him into a lock as his expression went smooth, almost polite and friendly. Bruce and Steve were frozen to one side, eyes wide in shock, unsure if they needed to intervene or not.

“The perfectly arranged food, everything in fours. It’s a symptom of eating disorders. And you saved that water from earlier so you hate to waste things which could make you a hoarder. Which is it?”

“Neither.” Clint said, forcing his body to be loose and fluid as he turned and made his way to the elevator to the private floors. If he looked like a prowling leopard more than a human man, well, maybe next time they will understand when he bites back.

He is precise and careful when he gets to his rooms. Carefully undressing and returning each item to the boxes and bags they came out of. Precision and control is everything in his world. It’s the one thing he has had taken away from him over and over again. The one thing that makes him what he is. You can’t be the best marksmen in the world without precision and control.

That’s all the food had been, letting himself have a few small moments of control, a few moments to enjoy something small. The tower was not home, it was not safe enough to let his control go without someone watching his back. He wanted to scream and throw things but he forced himself to change into a pair of shorts and tanktop. He walked out into the carpeted living room, forcing himself to be still and centered before he started flowing through the opening motions of a Tai Chi sequence. He had no idea how long he practiced, alternating between stepping practice and basic Tai Chi sequences until his entire body was heavy and loose. When he finally stilled, the room about him was full of sunlight.

Another night without sleep, he thought, making his way to the bedroom and taking a quick shower. He needed to get a better handle on things than this. Gripping the back of his neck harshly, he forced himself to breath as he considered what he had to do for the day. It had been Coulson’s way of snapping the archer out of a bad headspace or pulling him down from an intense mission focus. Somehow it just did not work the same when Clint did it.

 


	3. Ch. 3

Ch. 3

 

It’s almost a week later when the team was called out on an Avenger’s mission and tensions were still running high. For someone that was supposedly off the clock, Clint spent all his time at Shield, only returning to the tower to sleep. Both Steve and Bruce had tried to corner the archer to talk him into spending time with the team again to no avail. Turns out that spies are hard to find when they don’t want you to find them.

Flying robotic dragon flies were attacking the financial district. Steve expected Barton to joke and pick at the rest of the team as he had during the invasion but instead he was completely professional and brusk. Tony’s comments turned down right  mean as he tried to get a rise out of the spy but Barton stayed distant and professional the entire mission.

By the time they reached the debrief at Shield headquarter late that afternoon everyone was angry and exhausted. The tension in the room was palpable. The only one seemingly unaffected was Agent Barton. He sat relaxed and blank faced while the rest of the team seethed. Even Steve was contemplating knocking out a few of Tony’s teeth if he did not shut up soon, but Barton was unmoved. Tony was just opening his mouth to start another rant when the door burst open and Fury swept in to take his place at the head of the table.

Fury started the debrief letting each member get through their basic facts and actions before moving on, not questioning anyone further until he reached Agent Barton. With his body so still he barely seemed to be breathing, eyes locked to some point left of Fury’s eyepatch, Barton recited every shot, every call he made, every action that happened around him, word for word in precise detail. Fury pressed him for more and more detail, getting him to estimate the angles and distances of his shots, the exact percent of damage dealt,  the precise number of enemy that each team member had engaged. It was staggering. Somehow in the heat of battle, Agent Barton had memorized everything down to the slightest detail.

Once it was over, Fury ceded the meeting over to Sitwell who started to review everything they had gotten wrong and how they could correct it next time. Tony however was not one to let something like what had just happened go without a fight. When the archer ignored him he tossed a pen at his head only for it to be caught and set aside without the man ever turning his head. He almost crowed in victory when he saw the younger man suddenly turn and look at the pen on the table before shooting out of his seat.

“What the hell, Stark?” Clint snapped as the table around the pen began to smoke and dissolve.

“Ok, that one was totally not me.” Tony said, backing away from the table.

“Barton?” Fury snapped, watching as the blonde fought his way out of his shooting glove. He glanced up at the director, face pale as blood started trickling down his arm, a low groan being forced out between clenched teeth as Clint fought the urge to grip his injured hand.

“I need medical to my conference room, now!” Fury barked into an intercom as Sitwell lunged forward and caught the injured man, the skin on his hand and lower arm visibly being eaten away.

Clint fought to control his breathing, a helpless whine slipping past his lips. The pain, god, it was worse than being shot, worse than any torture he’d had to endure. He could feel the acid spreading even as his legs buckled and Sitwell helped ease him to the ground. He needed his hands, he’d die without them, fuck. When the medics finally stabbed him with a needle he welcomed the darkness, at least it replaced the red raw mess in front of him.

 

***

 

Clint came awake to the soft beeping of monitors and the white of Shield medical. Everything was fuzzy and distant thanks to the drugs he must be on. The room was thankfully dim as he pried his eyes open. Well, one eye, the other seemed to be swollen shut. A small movement to one side had him twitching in response only to reel back gasping for air as pain punched the air from his lungs.

“Hey, easy, Barton. I’ve got the watch, stand down.” Clint fought to twist enough to see the figure next to him with his good eye.

“Phil.”

“Relax, Barton.”

“Tasha?”

“You’ve been out almost two days. Natasha got in last night and has been searching for our sabator with Steve. Fury gave her the go ahead to clean house.” He said with a small smirk, pressing an ice chip against Clint’s lips until he took it. With Natasha at the helm of the investigation every offense for the last two years would be exposed in the next few days. Steve was probably there to keep her from outright damaging anyone.  “Bruce and Tony are working on the compound used in the attack. It took a while to neutralize it.”

“Damage?”

“Second and third degree burns to your right hand, wrist, forearm, shoulder, chest, neck, hip and upper leg. Your wrist and arm are the worst, the rest should heal up in the next few weeks.”

“Okay.” Clint said with a sigh around the next ice chip. “The eye?”

“Swelling from the burns, it’ll go down.”

Clint hummed softly in acknowledgement as the drugs started to pull him back down.

“Rest, the others will be by later to check in.”

“Yes, sir.” Clint slurred, letting his eyes close as Phil settled back into the chair with his paperwork, the shuffle of file folders and the soft shush of his pen as it moved across the page lulling Clint to sleep.

 

***

 

The next few days Clint woke to have short fuzzy conversations with the team or to watch his bandages be changed before slipping back under due to the heavy pain medications they had him on. He finally woke feeling a bit more alert just in time to watch Natasha come into take Bruce’s place next to his bed.

“Go get some sleep, Bruce. No one’s going to touch him on my watch.”

“Yeah.”Bruce nodded sleepily, gathering his things and heading out the door. Natasha waited until he had left before carefully sitting down on the bed next to Clint.

“Not up to talking to Bruce?”

“Not sure I was really awake.” Clint said, shifting in bed slightly and fighting the sudden spike of pain it caused. She slowly inclined the bed before letting him sip from a small cup of water.

“They’ve started dialing back the meds a bit. You were pretty out of it.”

“How long?”

“The Avengers mission was four days ago. It’s two in the morning.”

“How soon are they letting me out?”

“Once they wean you off the hard meds.”

“So ‘nother week?”

“Probably. Are you hungry?”

“Not really.” He said, swallowing thickly for a moment.

“Too bad. I found a green jello for you. No fruit.”

“Love you too.” He muttered as she held out a spoonful of green.

He obediently ate the jello and water she pressed on him. Natasha worked on her Stark Pad while he dozed and bugged her with the occasional question. They were finally interrupted after a while when the nurse came into change his bandages. Clint watched, numb as the burns on his hip and chest were exposed before being coated with a spray on coating that Natasha said was meant to help stimulate skin growth. Most of the burns were already fading to a red sun burnt look with the occasional scab of deeper damage. He had mostly spots of red, angry looking scar tissue that he knew would fade into regular pale scars with time.

His shoulder and arm were different however, the burnt skin around the wounds lay red and swollen while red muscle and tendons lay exposed to the air. There was even a few spots of white bone exposed on his lower arm and wrist. That would take a long time to heal, it might even need skin grafts if it did not start healing on it’s own soon. He would not be able to do much rehab until the worst of the burns healed beyond light stretching to try and keep his range of motion and his tendons loose.

He watched as the last of the bandages were pulled away and the nurse started to spray the gel onto his wrecked flesh. He was going to be off the team for at least a year with this. He doubted the doctors would let him even touch his bow for at least six months if not more depending on how the healing went.

“What’s the best timeline you’ve heard?” He asked once the nurse had cleaned up and left after giving him another shot of pain medication.

“A year before you can get back to your regular training. Another six months to a year before you are back on active duty.”

Clint nodded and pressed the button to lower the head of the bed. The pain meds were already pulling at him, making every action heavy and slow. Two years back to active duty. Right. He’d have to see if he could move that. He’d done it before when they said he’d be out a year after a bad fall. He’d been back in less than six months. He was just going to have to push himself again, he decided with a sigh letting the drugs pull him back down into a light doze.

He awoke sometime later to an dry mouth and hacking cough that flared the burns covering him back to life. His chest ached with every cough jaring his bad arm, leaving him shuddering and trying not to vomit in reaction. He coughed until he could not breath for coughing, until he did throw up across one side of the bed, until someone mercifully shoved something in his IV that sent the world dark.

 

***

 

Phil was standing to one side when Clint opened his eyes next. He was on a ventilator and had a new profusion of IVs hanging off to one side. Bruce lay asleep, sprawled out across the small couch like he had not slept in days.

“You’re okay. Someone messed with one of your IVs and you had an allergic reaction. They are planning to take you off the vent later today.” Clint hummed softly in acknowledgement and relaxed into the feel of Phil rubbing one calloused hand through his short hair. “I have a meeting to get to, no dying on me while I’m gone.” He ordered softly, touching Clint’s shoulder firmly for a moment before he slid out of the room.

  
  



	4. Ch. 4

Ch. 4

 

Clint came back to himself coughing with a loud voice in his ear telling him to cough hard as they pulled the ventilator tube out of his throat. He kept coughing, sputtering on the sip of water someone tried to give him. Finally someone shoved a pillow into his chest and told him to cough it all out and he did, which was disgusting. His arm throbbed with his heart beat as he gasped for air trying not to twitch as too many hands cleaned him up. Finally everyone backed off allowing him to see that most of the team was there with him in the room along with several nurses and Dr. Harris, one of the few Shield doctors that he liked.

“Hey, Doc.” Clint rasped once he had his breath back, earning soft chuckles from Bruce and Steve while Natasha gave him a small smile before slipping out the door. He knew she would come back later that night so he let her go without comment.

“About time you woke up, Agent Barton. I would like to see you survive our treatment long enough to be discharged.”

“Doing my best, Mam.” He said, turning away to cough into his good arm.

“You know the drill, Barton. Do your breathing exercises and keep your lungs clear for the next 24 hours and I will let you go provided you have in house care for your burns. Mr. Stark here is promising you around the clock care should you need it. I expect you to be up and walking by the morning, we clear?”

“Yes, Mam.” Clint said with a grin as Bruce and Steve looked on in horror.

“Surely that’s a bit too soon, Dr.” Bruce protested, “He did just get extubated less than an hour ago.”

“Dr. Banner, I don’t mock your degree. Don’t mock mine.” The older woman snapped, face hard. “I have worked with Shield for over twenty years and the only way to keep Agents in those beds is to drug them. He would still be flat on his back if I thought for a moment he couldn’t still kill everyone present in under a minute.” She sent Clint an exasperated if slightly fond look. “Most of the agents here have training in suppressing and working through pain. For most agents I take the best case scenario and subtract two days. Barton here is known for escaping the second his feet hit the tile unless he is under constant supervision or drugged to the gills. I give him 24 hours now that we are weaning the drugs off for him to start getting antsy, this way at least I can discharge him out of the hospital in a wheelchair instead of pulling him out of the vents by his sweats. Now if you'll excuse me gentlemen, I have other patients to corral.”

“She’s great, right?” Clint asked grinning between coughs, making Bruce give up and laugh softly. A nurse came in and started unhooking the unnecessary monitors and equipment before helping him out of the catheter which left Steve bright red and Clint fighting to breath from laughing and coughing.

“Well, Tony is at the tower making sure you have a nurse round the clock if you need it and probably designing an entire medical floor just in case. You need anything?”

“Jello?”

“Sure, any preferences?”  
“Green.” He said, grinning at the ironic smirk the scientist sent him as he left. Clint turned back to Steve the grin falling from his face. “So, have you guys found who’s trying to kill me yet?” making Steve grimace.

“We don’t know for sure that they are. The pen was picked up by Tony in R&D, apparently it’s a prototype weapon that was shelved some years ago when they found out the acid was unstable. Only one was missing from storage and no one had been to open that locker at all since it was placed there.”

“And the allergy?”

“Could have been just a mixed up medication by one of the nurses or staff.”

“But…” Clint prompted settling back against the pillows and coughing into a rag one of the nurses had left.

“We went back through the sharps bins and trash. All the syringes, drug vials, and bags checked out. So did the electronic records and barcode scans of all the medications. Shield is testing all the syringes and such but right now have not found anything. Natasha is convinced it’s deliberately targeted at you.”

“Could have been originally meant for Tony and they just keep going once I got hurt.” Clint pointed out making the Captain sigh as he moved to sit down in the chair next to the bed. Clint frowned as that reminded him of his dream earlier with Coulson.

“We have everyone moving around in pairs while they're out in public until we find something and all missions barring Avengers level ops are canceled for the time being.”

“Well...could be worse.” Clint said with a sigh, trying to shift into a better position. “At least I’m left handed.”

“True.” Steve said finally giving in with a laugh. “You sure you’ll be ready to be up and about tomorrow?”

“Ready? Hell, yes.” Clint said, swinging his legs off the bed and grunting as he lifted his arm into the sling across his chest for the first time. “Able is debatable. I’ll probably get back to the tower and sleep for 48 hours or something.” He said with a laugh, pushing himself upright and standing on weak limbs for a moment before he tugged his IV into the bathroom with him and shut the door on Steve’s shocked face.

“You sure you don’t have any enhancements?” Steve asked with a wince. “I’m pretty sure I’d still be laid out right about now.”

“Yeah, but you could move if you had to right?” Clint asked, slightly out of breath as he made his way back to the bed, swinging his legs up with a small groan and eying the pile of pillows his arm had been resting on before leaving it in the sling for now.

“Yeah, I could force it if I had to.”  
“Same thing. I’m going to get some sleep. Wake me up when the jello gets back.”

“Sure.” Steve said with a shake of his head, pulling the blankets back over the already sleeping agent.

 

***

 

Clint ate jello and graham crackers and slept the rest of the day, waking sometime early the next morning to find Natasha watching over him. Thankfully, they had taken out his IVs the night before so he was all set to leave.

“Got you a few things.” She said nodding to a bag to one side. “Fury wants you taken out a back door while two other agents in pretend to be you, one out the front and one by quinjet.”

“Shell game a la archer. Great.” He muttered scrubbing a hand through his hair and pulling himself to sit on the edge of the bed.

“How much help do you want?” She asked as he unsnapped the hospital gown at the shoulders instead of fighting his way out of it.

“What kind of shirt did you bring?”

“I didn’t. I thought you could do a tank top with a large hoodie over it.”

She pulled out the clothes as she talked, leaving everything on the bed as she helped thread his swollen arm though the black tank top. It was quick work to ease him back into the sling and pull the hoodie on top of that. He let her help pull up his pant and tie his combat boots before she declared him ready for the outing.

Clint slumped in the wheelchair, hood pulled up and shadowing his face. He wanted to ask how the hell Natasha got Coulson’s old hoodie for him to wear but can’t make himself. The damn thing even still smelled of his aftershave. They had gotten it for Phil after he was laid up in medical, the Captain America shield on the back and stylized winged blue helmet on the front. Phil had worn it whenever they had down time or one of them were laid up at home with an injury.

“Please tell me you talked Stark out of a welcome back party.”

“Bruce did. He was concerned since you were released so soon from the hospital.”

“Never stay where you're vulnerable.” Clint muttered as the car pulled into the tower garage.

“Never make yourself a target when you’re injured.” She said.

“I think we’ve broken that one too many times for it to count.” He said, hauling himself out of the car and waiting for her to join him next to the elevator. “Bags?”

“Steve already brought everything back last night.”

“Efficient of him.”

“He needed to be doing something.”

“Don’t we all.” Clint said, suppressing a sigh. “Hey, Jarvis.”

“Good Morning, Agent Barton, Agent Romanov. Sir has asked me to remind you that if you need anything at all simply to ask and I will do my best to accommodate your needs.”

“Thanks, Jarvis, but right now all I need to do is sleep.” Clint yawned, stepping off the elevator and onto the common level. Thankfully it was a short walk and shorter elevator ride to his floor.

“Tony and Bruce in the labs still?”

“Sir is currently working in his lab, Dr. Banner is assisting in the shell game along with Captain Rogers.”

“That’s fine. You guys can wake me up for lunch or something.” Clint muttered fighting off his boots and easing himself into bed fully dressed.

“Want help taking off the hoodie?”

“Nope, gonna wear it a while.” Clint said, his voice already thick and slurring with sleep as he snuggled down into the Coulson scented warmth.

 


	5. Ch. 5

Ch. 5

 

“Jarvis, can you monitor Clint’s heart rate and alert us to possible injuries?” Natasha asked.  
“He can and will. I already tuned the medical scanners and upped Barton’s rating to as high as it will go. If he sneezes funny, Jay will let us know.” Tony said, flopping into a nearby chair.

“Clint’s good at working around pain. He’ll hurt himself without realizing it if someone doesn’t keep an eye on him.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.” Steve said, setting his beer to the side. “He was up and walking not even fifteen minutes after they extubated him.”

“That’s crazy.”

“It’s training. The hardest thing to train an agent in is dissociating from pain due to injury or torture. Clint’s good at it, too good sometimes. He drove Coulson crazy with his hyper focus during solo missions. He’d do anything to get his mark, broken bones, gun shot wounds, nothing would faze him until he came down after the debrief. It’s why I was partnered with him originally, they knew he would take anything I tossed at him without blinking.”

“What are some warning signs than if we need to know when he’s zoning out?” Bruce asked, cradling his cup of tea against his chest.

“Zoning out. Ignoring outside stimuli or pain.” Natasha said with a sigh. “He could be bleeding out and walking on broken bones and his stride will be dead on, not a hint of a limp. Most of the time he does not get that deep but it takes a lot to shake him out of it when he does. With how much pain he’s going to be in it’s likely that he’s going to be dissociating himself a bit on instinct, don’t let him. Talk to him, keep him present. If that doesn’t work and he zones out, come get me.”

“Is he violent?”

“Only if you offer violence. He responds on autopilot most of the time. He’s not going to be trying to hurt or kill unless you’re doing the same.”

“Great. Any other words of wisdom, Obi One?”

“Only the stuff we tell junior agents. Don’t wake the assassins by touching them, you’ll lose something, normally an eye.”

 

***

 

Natasha went to wake Clint for lunch several hours later, helping him out of his hoodie so the new nurse could redo his bandages and give him his meds before he ate. He sat on the bed while the nurse worked, arguing that he could totally shower with his arm in the sling. Natasha watched from the doorway smirking as he was shot down.

“Be nice and I’ll help you take a bath later.” She offered with a small grin.

“Yep, she only loves me for my body.” He said with a mock sigh, making the nurse laugh.

“Don’t make me play the dumb blonde again.”

“You totally need to do that, I want to see Steve’s head explode.”

“Which blonde are we talking about?” She asked, helping off the bed with one arm and letting him lean against her for a moment until he was sure his legs would hold.

“The airline stewardess.”

“I don’t think they are called that anymore.” Bruce pointed out as they walked out into the main room.

“What do you want to eat?” Natasha asked, pushing him lightly toward on of the bar stools. She pulled out a bottle of blue sports drink that he normally liked and set it to one side already opened which earned her a snort.

“Not much. Cheese and crackers?”

“I expect you to eat more once you’re off the pain meds.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” he said with a grin slouching in his seat. Once the food was ready he gave her a grin and straightened up. He shifted in his chair to pull it a bit closer and suddenly folded with a gasped “Fuck.” his entire body curled in on itself.

“Alright.”

“Fine.” he rasped, breathing harshly before he shakily straightened up. “Hit my elbow. Worst funny bone ever.”

“How about we move this to the den. Less hard surfaces to hit.” Bruce offered with a wince.

Clint eased himself off of the stool and made his slow way to the couch, giving Natasha a slight look when she set the plate in his lap and sat down at the other end of the couch with his drink.

“So, how long are you guys going to be treating me like I’m made of glass?”

“Just until you are back to being able to murder all of us in our sleep.” Tony quipped from his spot near the wall, he was eying the kitchen area like he was mentally redesigning things.

“Could do that now, Stark.”

Clint got through about half the crackers and cheese before pushing the plate away and finishing off his drink.

“It’s just the meds.” He told Bruce with a sigh, “I never eat much when I’m on them.”

 

***

 

Later that night he tugged Natasha done to lay next to him, the rest of the team finally having left except for Bruce who was laid out asleep in an armchair.

“Nat, Coulson is gone right? For sure?”

“You saw the footage, same as I did, Clint. Coulson’s dead.”

“I know that, Nat, I just… I kept thinking I saw him, talked to him after I got burned. It probably was the meds making me hallucinate but it sure felt real.”

“You want me to double check?”

“No, just the footage in my room. I swear he was sitting next to my bed at one point doing paperwork. He next time he talked to me, told me what happened with the allergic reaction. Why would I hallucinate something that I didn’t know about, Nat?”

“You wouldn’t.” She said with a frown. “I’ll take a look.”

“Thanks, Nat.”  
“Here, take your pills and get some sleep.”

“Okay.” Clint said with a grunt, pulling himself up painfully so that he could swallow the small handful of pills. His arm was a solid throb of pain now that they had started pushing back his pain meds. “Fuck, I hurt.” he muttered, handing back the cup of water. “Did they add another antibiotic or something?”

“Not that I am aware of, why?”

“Nothing, just an extra pill.” Clint said softly, the drugs already starting to pull him under as he relaxed back into the pillows.

“Jarvis, get the nurse in here and wake up Bruce.” Natasha snapped, going through the pill bottles in the kitchen and laying them out. “How many pills is Clint supposed to get?”

“Agent Barton is currently receiving six different medications in his nightly dose.” Jarvis said as Bruce stumbled into the room.

“The pill cup had seven. I gave him seven.” Natasha snapped, hurrying back to the bedroom. “Clint, wake up. I need to know what the extra pill looked like.”

“Huh.” Clint slurred, “It’s white.” He pushed weakly at where Natasha was gripping him too hard.

“Sit up.” She snapped, forcing him up and wedging herself behind him as the nurse arrived. “Something’s wrong with his meds. There was an extra pill in the cup you left for his last dose of the night.”

“No, Mam. It was exactly as ordered.” The nurse watching the drugged man looking at her blurrily.

“I don’t care if it’s your fault or not. We need to get the drugs out of his system.”

“Shot of Narcan would do it.” Bruce said from one side, taking Clint’s pulse. “His pulse is too slow. Jarvis can you monitor and let us know if it drops farther?”

“Of course, Dr. Banner.” A list of vital signs popped up on the wall across from the bed.

“Do you have any Narcan?” He asked the nurse.

“No, they only sent me over with a basic kit and his medications.”

“Tony has a first aid kit you could do surgery with in the lab. I’ll grab it.” Bruce said, leaving the room at a run.

When he got back Tony and Steve were in the room watching as Clint struggled to breath. Bruce quickly drew up the Narcan and injected it into Clint in one smooth motion. Clint lay sprawled limp across Natasha’s lap barely breathing, face pale and lips already shading more blue than was ever healthy. He took Clint’s pulse manually even if his eyes were on the projected vitals that were ever so slowly ticking upward.

“That’s it. I’m building a medical floor in the tower. At this rate we are going to need it.” Tony snapped walking into the living area and starting to dictate to Jarvis.

“Jarvis. I need the footage of Nurse Travis getting Clint’s pills ready.”

“I dosed out the pills just like his orders said, I’ll show you.” The nurse said, almost in tears.

She pulled out the tablet she had been using to document the care given and handed it to Bruce. Natasha slid out from behind Clint after running one hand through his hair. They reviewed the footage and chart in silence. The orders were to take two of the pain pills though the directions on the bottle said to take one. Bruce went and got the pill bottles removing one from each and rattling off the description and lettering on each pill so that Jarvis could check the strengths and medications. One of the narcotics was wrong.

“The strength of the medication is three times what it should be.” Bruce said rubbing a hand through his hair harshly. “If Natasha had not noticed Clint would have just stopped breathing and died.”

“Dr. Banner, If I may. I would have alerted the team as soon as Agent Barton’s vitals dropped below normal sleep levels.”

“Yeah, but it should not have happened in the first place.”  
“That we all agree on.” Steve said, eying the sleeping archer. “What do we need to do now that the drugs are out of his system?”

“He’s going to be in a lot of pain when he wakes up, probably dizzy and nauseous from the Narcan. We should probably see about him getting an IV line placed. I’m going to have to keep giving him injections every few minutes if his respirations decrease at all. A continuous infusion would probably be better until the drugs are out of his system.”

“I’ll call Shield.” Natasha said, moving out of the room, pushing the nurse out with her.

“Jarvis, send the latest evidence to Fury, his eyes only. I think from now on we are double checking every medication when it arrives and before anyone takes anything.”

“I shall add it to my list of duties, Captain Rogers.”

“I think we need a team meeting to discuss pushing Shield out of the equation.”

“Most of the issues do seem to be coming from their end.” Bruce said with a sigh, pulling out the vial and giving Clint another small dose.  Natasha came back in ten minutes later escorting Dr. Harris into the room.

“That was fast.” Steve murmured, watching as the older woman checked Clint’s vitals and got an IV going. The patient never even twitched when the IV line went in making the doctor frown.

“He shouldn’t be sleeping this deep. How much Narcan have you given him?” Bruce rattled off the milligrams and Clint’s stats since he arrived on the scene. “I’m going to take some blood. I want to run another full tox screen just incase there is something we’re not seeing.”

 

***

 

Clint dreamed. Phil Coulson was packing a bag in one of the dumpy Shield safe houses they had used on a mission together. He watched as guns and suits were precisely packed away and the final bag zipped up. Coulson was leaving.

“I don’t like this op, Coulson.”

“It’s just another op for Fury, Barton. I’ll be back  with the team in no time.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Barton…”

“No, you’re moving up. They won’t let you back down to play with the assets any more. You’re going to be working with superheroes, Coulson. Fury and Shield is playing with powers they need to leave alone. It’s going to blow up in their faces.”

“I’ll see you in a few weeks, Barton.”

“No you won’t.” Clint whispered as Phil headed out the door, off to recruit heroes while Clint went to watch the tesseract.

 

***

 

Clint had been unconscious for twelve hour before he finally started to come around. He woke to pain, his arm and head a solid wall of pounding pressure and pain. He fought his reaction down to a choked off gasp and forced his eyes open.

 

“How are you feeling, agent?”

“Crappy. Head an’ arm hurt.” Clint rasped, “What happened?”

“Apparently you have made some enemies in Shield. Someone tampered with your medication.”

“Some are still pissed from Loki.” Clint mumbled, watching with drooping eyes as the Dr. manually checked his vitals. “Nat?”

“She’s at Shield. We insisted Steve go with her. He at least might be able to keep her from killing anyone.” Bruce said, at Clint’s rather blank look he continued, “She was rather upset that you’re being targeted and said she needed to make sure all of Shield understood that fact.”

“Did she look at the camera feeds?”

“She said she would discuss it when she got back.” Bruce said.

“Good.” Clint said tiredly, watching as the Doctor carefully changed the bandages on his arm. “What happened to the nurse?”  
“She was sent home.” Dr. Harris said with a frown. “What hurts exactly in your arm?”

“Hmm? Wrist, hand.”

“Good. Those were the worst burns, it means that your nerves are recovering. Any where else?”

“Headache. When can I start doing rehab?”

“Give it 48 hours. I’m going to leave you with a few small exercises to do once I’m sure you’re over the medication but you need to take it easy. We want to keep the tendons loose but not to strain the muscles that are still healing. Try to wiggle your fingers, flex them very slightly, that kind of thing. No big motions.”

“Yes, Mam.” Clint grunted, wincing as she forced his swollen fingers to fit against the new brace and strapping them down lightly.

“I want you to wear this only half the day at most. Give it a good hour but if it hurts too much take it off and wear the regular one for a few hours before trying again.”

“Jarvis, start a timer. We’ll see how it feels later.” Bruce murmured glancing between Clint and his displayed vitals.

“Right now it fucking hurts.” Clint said, fighting against the instinctive need to move his hand away from the pain.

“Try it in small doses if you have to, twenty or thirty minutes at a time. I want to see if we can get your tendons to relax a bit, your fingers are trying to lock in a curled position. It might just be from the swelling but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

“Alright.”

“A bit of mild pain medication.” She said picking up a syringe to one side and injecting it into his IV. “Be careful, with all the meds you’ve been on today you’re likely to be dizzy.”

“Are you thirsty? Can I get you anything?” Bruce asked as he lingered near the door.

“Water’d be good.”

“Get him one of the protein shakes.” Dr. Harris told Bruce before turning back to Clint, “You need the calories. Your blood results were a little low. You’re not eating enough.”

“Trying not to have to throw it back up.”

“That’s what anti nausea meds are for. Drink your shake and I’ll give  you a dose.”

“Fine.” Clint sighed, watching the Dr. ready another syringe. She set the syringe and vial on the counter for a moment, a quick blue scan running over the meds before she picked them up and injected the meds in his IV.

“Jarvis is scanning for what exactly?” he asked as Bruce returned with his drink.

“Just a medication double check. One of the pain pills you’d been prescribed was miss filled and then ordered incorrectly on the nurse’s chart.”

“Like the one that caused my allergic reaction?”

“We still aren't sure what caused that. The lab found a possible contaminant but your file does not have you allergic to anything.”

“No allergies that I know of.” Clint said with a shrug.

“Were you sick when you were a kid?”

“All the time,” Clint said, his face falling into a blank mask, “but mostly it was from a different source. I’m not allergic to anything.”

“Drink.” Dr. Harris reminded him with a small nudge. “If you want to get cleaned up, you can once that is empty.” Bruce ducked out of the room without another word.

“Right.”

“He’s just trying to help.”  
“His childhood was just as bad as mine.” Clint snapped. “He should know better.”

“Everyone deals with trauma differently.”

 

***

 

Natasha came in a few hours later when he was sipping at another protein shake. She made a slight face for him, knowing how he hated them.

“Any good news?” He asked, as she sat down on the end of the bed.

“We have three people in custody for tampering with your gear.”

“When?” Clint asked fighting to push himself further up in bed.

“So far it looks like they only tampered with your practice gear and what was stored at Sheild. I’m having Tony look over the gear you used in the last Avengers mission but so far it looks clean.”

“What did they do that we know of?”  
“Two weapons and range technicians and one R&D technician changed out your arrows stored in the range for ones that had been altered to break at full draw.” Clint flinched slightly at that. If the arrow had shattered, the recoil would have driven bits of shaft into his arm and wrist.

“No connecting them to the acid?”

“No, it looks like that was someone else.”

“They are still happy I got hurt I bet.”

“Manically ecstatic. It’s very out of character for all of them. The Director wants to have a full department sweep for mind control, anyone who might hold a grudge against you for Loki.”

“Great.” Clint muttered setting his drink to the side and pulling himself a bit more upright with a wince. Natasha pulled out a recorder and set it on the bedside table.

“Whenever you are ready?”

“Agent Romanov, I must ask, is this going to endanger my patient’s health?” Dr. Harris asked. She had been sitting, marking notes in a medical journal she was reading, to one side. Natasha gathered several towels and the trashbin, setting that to one side.

“Accessing that many memories at once is going to give him a migraine and probably make him nauseous but Director Fury insisted.”

“What do you mean accessing memories, exactly?” Steve asked from the doorway, Bruce coming to hover at his side. Natasha ignored him, sitting down on the bed with a towel in her lap, forcing Clint to pull his leg into a tailors seat with a small sigh.

“Ready?” She asked watching as Clint forced his body to relax against the headboard, head back and shoulders loose.

“Yes.” He murmured, eyes sliding closed.

“Tell me every instance since the battle with Loki where a member of Shield has indicated that you were to blame for what happened during the battle or where they treated you as less than a full member of Shield.”

Clint talked nonstop for four hours. He listed name, rank, date, and exactly what was said before moving chronologically to the next event. None of the team had expected the level of harassment the archer had received since the battle. Natasha made him pause only once, when Dr. Harris tried to intervene.

“I don’t like his color or his vitals, he needs a break.”  
“Once Clint starts a recall like this he can’t stop until it’s complete. Even now his mind is still stuck in the last memory reviewing it over an over.”

“How the hell does that work?” Tony burst out having joined them in the first hour.

“I’ll explain later. Let him finish first.” Natasha snapped. “The longer this take the worse it will be and he only has a month left to review. Clint, you can continue.”

Clint’s chest heaved in reaction and he began reciting again, his voice flat and emotionless but a tear slipped from one eye and trailed it’s way down his cheek. To their shock there were even a few instances of the nurses working on him muttering things.

When he finally stopped he took a few breaths before opening his eyes and reaching out to Natasha. She was already moving, pulling him forward and shoving the bucket in front of him. He threw up for several minutes, mostly dry heaves before pushing the bucket away. He let Natasha clean him up with a wet towel before pushing her lightly away and curling in on himself on his side.

“Jarvis, dim the lights to 30%. Everyone else needs to leave.” She said, voice soft. “What do you need, Clint?”

“I’m fine.” He mumbled, “Just need to sleep.”

“Okay. You mind if I explain to the team?”  
“Go for it.” He grunted pulling a pillow over his head.

“Come on, Jarvis can keep an eye on him while we talk in the living room.” She said, ushering the others out and closing the door behind them.

“Okay, what was that exactly?” Tony demanded once they were all seated.

“You know how I said that Clint’s good at having hyper focus and ignoring pain?”

“Yes, you said he can get into trance like states where he ignores any physical injuries.”

“I’ve worked with agents for over twenty years, Agent Romanov and that is not an agent pushing through pain.”

“No, that is what happens when you take someone who is already good at compartmentalizing their physical and mental state and they also have an eidetic memory. Clint can get himself into a focused state on missions where he memorizes everything that happens around him to the smallest detail. Except for missions where he has received head injuries his report is generally the one taken as gospel if there are any issues with the operation. It’s also why he generally give his full debrief in private with only Fury or Coulson present.”

“Yeah, he seriously would be up for Most Hated award if everyone at Shield knew he could spill out random conversations like that. Right up there with Telepaths.”

“Most of the time he doesn’t remember everything around him, he suppresses it, probably on instinct. When questioned he can pull everything up but if he does it for a long period it causes migraines like you saw.”

“So he remembers everything?”

“I don’t think so. It’s only when he forces himself to do so that he locks all the memories in place.”

“A lot of that was from conversations held in hallways and cafeteria chatter that was overheard. How was he able to recite all that back if he was not consciously recording everything?”  
“I don’t know, you would have to ask Clint. Coulson would have known so Fury probably does as well.”

“Did Clint rely on Coulson a lot?”

“What do you mean?”  
“It’s just... since he moved in he’s seemed really stressed.” Bruce said, “He’s barely here at all, always gone on missions or staying at Shield. Does he normally get much downtime?”

“Coulson was always the one to make sure we had downtime between missions. I’ll have to talk to Fury and see who’s taken Clint’s on as a handler. Last I heard he was still being handed around the pool whenever they had a mission that fit his skill set.”

“So no one is looking at the big picture of how many days and missions he’s been working?”

“There should be, but I don’t know who it is.”

“After the charity fund raiser we all attended Clint said that he had only been in the tower around six days. The rest of the time he was away on missions. It’s been months since the battle with Loki, shouldn’t he be getting more downtime?”

“He should be getting at least a few days in between missions. Coulson always made sure we had at least 48 hours between missions unless there was absolutely no one else that could do the job.” She said with a frown, “I’ll have to see what’s been going on.”

 


	6. Ch. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter before the action starts. Enjoy ;-)

Ch. 6

 

Clint sighed and shifted in his seat. He was in a dark smoky corner of a small dive piano jazz bar in Brooklyn. He had been coming here for years when ever he was in town and the address had fallen from his lips as soon as he caught a cab. He hadn’t been able to force himself to take it back and head somewhere else, he loved this place.

He was four days into his rehab and his arms was a solid throbbing blunt object at the moment. He doubted he could hold so much as a pen right now.  He took a small sip of his hard cider with a sigh. He was too paranoid to go out and get  drunk while he was injured and not able to defend himself.

The bartender had recognized him and offered his normal whiskey before visibly flenching once Clint wrestled off his leather jacket. The burns on his neck and cheek still showed pink and painful looking while the brace and sling hid the worst injuries. His drink was on the house and the old jazz hound’s eyes followed his back as he slid into a shadow filled corner booth.

The band today was tight even if the pianist was fighting to keep up with the rest of the group. Clint hoped he was just a temporary replacement. Nancy, the singer, normally did not tolerate such ineptitude. It was only a matter of time before the barkeep outed him to the rest of the group, Nancy heading over with a grin. They had played together whenever they both turned up at the bar for years.

“Clint!” She called out, gesturing him up to the stage. “You guys are in for a treat. I want you to hear this boy play. He’s the best I have ever heard on the keys.”

Her soft “Oh, Honey.” made him flinch as he made his way to the steps of the stage. Striding up like the burns on his ribs and hip were not burning from the motion.

“Not sure how much use a one armed pianist is going to be, Nancy.” He said hugging her lightly with his good arm.

“Care to give it a try? I don’t want to force you, Honey, but you look like you could use a good night of jamming.”

“Fuck it.” Clint said with a sigh, tugging at the strap on his sling and forcing it over his head. He ignored the way most of the room was now watching the burns on his skin be revealed.

“Budge up kid. You just got sidelined.” Nancy said dismissing the young man with a flip of one hand. “Charlie, can we get some ice water up here for Clint? Thank you, Darling.”

They played a few easy Sinatra oldies to get him warmed up. Clint appreciated it, he needed all the time he could to just get used to having to readjust every piece to one hand melodies and a few chord progressions. They played about thirty minutes before Nancy called a break and made him drink a glass of water before they could continue.

“How’s the prognosis? They think you are going to get it back?” Tommy, the drummer asked, sipping at his beer.

“No idea yet. The accident fucked up my wrist mainly. They are waiting for the rest of the swelling to go down before they tell me. Hard to be optimistic when you can barely bend your fingers.”

“Christ.” Nancy murmured. “You know you’re welcome anytime you want to show up here, Clint. Hand or not, you can play rings around most of the guys we pick up for keys.”

“Thanks, Nancy.” Clint said with a small smile. “You guys ready for another set?”

“Sure, you mind if we pick up the tempo?”

“Do whatever you like, I’m amazed the last set even worked. I haven’t touched a piano in months between work and all the crap with the aliens destroying my apartment.” Clint snorted,  running through a quick scale with his good hand, pushing it faster and faster until he finally flubbed a note. God, he was out of practice.

They played and it was perfect for a while. Clint felt the eyes on him before he ever saw the team. He knew Natasha had followed him and had been sitting in the back since the start of the first set. He just had not expected Tony, Steve and Bruce to arrive and take a table to one side. Clint did his best to ignore them as he crooned his way through the next song.

He kept glancing out into the audience and realizing he was searching for Phil. The last few times he had played here the Agent had followed he in, settling in a corner for the evening and leaving before Clint could get through the crowd that always seemed to build once he got settled in. They never spoke about Clint’s night out but after that first time Phil would show up whenever the itch got too much for Clint to ignore and he would glance out into the crowd and spot his handler sitting there with a small smile gracing his lips.

Clint played one more set before he slid off the stage and headed like he was going to the restroom. He was out the backdoor and flagging down a cab before the team even noticed he was gone. He ignored the text that hit his phone in the cab. Natasha, of course, had seen him leave. By the time he reached the tower the pain he had been suppressing rose to swamp him. He staggered on to his floor ignoring the Doctor and took his pain pills with a glass of water, crawling into bed, not bothering to turn the lights on.

The team arrived on his floor to find a concerned Doctor watching Clint sleep. He was whimpering and twitching as he dreamed. Natasha merely sighed and gathered up a blanket from the couch before easing her way into bed next to the archer.

“He reacts badly to sedatives most of the time when he’s injured. They lock him into his nightmares sometimes. It’s why he fights taking anything.” She settled in next to him before slowly reaching out one hand and brushing his shoulder. A knife was at her neck in an instant.

“Clint.”

“Nat.”  He mumbled, glancing at her with glazed eyes, pupils blown wide from the drugs in his system.

“You’re fine. You took some pain pills since you hurt your arm. Go to sleep, Hawk.”

“Ok.” He said, shuffling softly as he shifted to bury his face against her side while she stroked lighting at his hair. “My head hurts. Phil coming?”

“Phil’s...he’s out on a mission.” Natasha managed. “Go to sleep, Hawk. Everything will be better once you sleep.”

“Liar.” He muttered, slinging his bad arm over her legs. “Never gets better. Never get what I want, doesn’t work that way.”

“What doesn’t?”

“Life.”


	7. Ch. 7

Ch. 7.

 

Clint woke with a start, blinking in the darkened room. The air was too still. He pried himself up trying to ignore the stabbing throb of his head.

“Jarvis?”

“How can I assist you, Agent Barton?”

“Where’s the Doc?”

“Dr. Harris was called back to Shield for an emergency surgery.”

“And the team?”

“The Avengers were called out an hour ago for a disturbance in Brooklyn.”

“Do we know who it is?”  
“Captain Rogers believes it to be Hydra or at least one of their splinter groups.”

“And the lights are still out why exactly?”  
“I apologize, Agent Barton, but all nonessential systems have been shut down to boost the security systems performance.” Jarvis said as the room shook from some explosion or collision.

“Is the tower under attack?”

“Yes, Agent Barton. I would advise finding a defensible position in your rooms. My recommendation would be the closet.”

“Right.” Clint muttered forcing himself to stagger to his feet. The closet held most of his back up weaponry any way. He made his slow way to the closet, his balance acting up as he fought to not throw up from the pain in his head. The door clicked shut behind him and he started to gather knives and one gun, he doubted he would really do that much damage before some shot him with how his head was spinning.

“Are you alright, Agent Barton? Your vitals are elevated.”  
“Great.” Clint panted out. He stuffed himself into the corner of the room and set his gun to one side. He did not trust himself right now to hold it. When the darkness pulled him under moments later he welcomed it.

 

Clint woke up strapped up an upright chair, feeling concussed. Strangely it had happened often enough in his career with Shield for it to feel normal. People were yelling and occasionally smacking him in the sides or shoulders. Everything was garbled, it was like he was concussed and drugged. What the hell had Hydra done to him?

 

“What is wrong with him? Who did this?” the head thug demanded, tapping at the dazed agent.

“He was down when we broke in, Boss.”

They watched as Clint suddenly began to seize, blood trickling from his nose.

“Wonderful, we managed to kidnap Hawkeye and he is so broken we cannot question him.”

“How do we play this, Boss?”  
“Shut up! I’m thinking.” He said watching as Clint stilled and slumped against the restraints unconscious.

“Someone get me a camera and a big piece of paper.” He snapped waving two of the minions away to go find what he needed. “We are going to ransom the Hawk back to the Avengers. We will use the money Stark will pay us to get the information.”

 

The team watched in horror as the video tape that arrived was played. Clint sat strapped to a chair, bloody and barely conscious. A masked man to one side pulled his head back as the camera zoomed in on his face showing his blown pupils and the hemorrhaged blood vessels in his eyes that were staining the white of his eyes red. Blood coated his chin and lips, dripping in a steady flow from his nose.

“Christ, what did they drug him with?”

“Hard to say but it’s not anything I have seen before.” Natasha said, her voice empty of emotion. “Nothing we can do about it right now. Let’s focus on finding him first.”

“Right.” Tony said swallowing thickly. “Jarvis, start analyzing the footage. Toss up any screenshots that look interesting to the walls for the team to review.”

 

The second video two days later was worse. Clint was chained against a concrete wall, body limp while his arms were cuffed together above his head.  It was clear that at least one of his shoulders was dislocated. Bruises covers his sides and back, showing dark against his pale skin. He was wet and the black pants he was wearing clung to his form making him look thin and small.

“At least they left his brace on. If he was cuffed like that without it the damage might not be repairable.” Bruce muttered looking slightly green, before turning away. “I’m going to meditate. Let me know if anything changes.”

 

Clint wove between being slightly conscious and out cold. Much of the action around him when he was awake was distorted and fuzzy. Everything hurt in a steady burn of pain, all his muscles protesting at once but his head was the worst, a solid migraine that fuzzed out his sight and left him dry heaving at the slightest movement. They hosed him down a few times but mostly left him alone. He knew something was seriously wrong. He could understand what people were saying around him but it was like pulling barbed arrows out of his own flesh to respond.

He must have been out when someone finally came. He woke as a fuzzy shape arranged his limbs on the wet concrete. He watched numb as they stripped him out of his freezing wet clothes and forced his limp limbs into a workmen’s coverall, shoving boots on his feet and quickly tying them. His bad arm banged into the floor and Clint twitched in reaction, a weak mew of sound leaving his throat.

“Barton?” The blurred asked, “I’m going reset your shoulders. It’s going to hurt.”

“Kay.” Clint said, voice rasping and barely there. He rode out the pain as each arm was guided back into it’s socket with a bony crunch. His bad arm was then duct taped to his chest to keep it out of the way.

“Give me a pain scale, Agent. How bad is it?”

“Nine.”

“What’s worst?”

“Head.” Clint rasped, swallowing thickly. The soldier  helped him to sit up, the other man helping support his neck and head with one steady hand. Clint knew those calluses and the voice in his ear but he was too out of it to connect the dots.

“Think you can walk?”

“No.”

“Going to have to. It’s too far to carry you the whole way.”

Clint didn’t bother saying anything. He wrapped his good hand in a strap on the tactical uniform and tried to anchor himself to the man’s side as he pulled him up. His balance was shot but he could stand with support. They moved quickly through the corridors, occasionally stepping over dead or dying soldiers. Few of Shield’s members could have done this by themselves but Clint could not spare the energy on questions, not with a Shield emblem inches from his nose on the man’s chest.

 

“Conf’mation code.” He managed, tugging at the man’s vest when they crouched at an intersection. The soldier rattled off this week’s code without hesitation letting the last of Clint’s worry slide away.

“Tell me your’s while we move, Barton.” The man insisted, hauling them both down the next corridor. It took three corridors for Clint to force out the code and his vision was full of black spots when they finally stopped just outside the compound. He heard the man start cursing as he went limp, darkness eating his vision.

 

Agent Phil Coulson cursed as Clint went boneless for a moment before starting to seize. He heaved the shaking man over his shoulder and started off. They needed to get away from the perimeter before the last set of explosives went off. By the time the Avengers arrived the base should be permanently disabled and most of the crew incapacitated in the hangers thanks to sleepy gas grenades.

He really did not like the look of this. Clint had two more seizures before they reached the cave he had scouted on the way in. They had at least another two hours before he could contact Shield and find out where the rendezvous was going to be located.

 

“Really don’t like you like this, Barton.” Phil muttered, wrapping the limp archer tighter in his arms. “You feel feverish enough without adding pneumonia to the mix.” The foil emergency blanket crinkled annoyingly but it was cold in the cave.

“This was not supposed to be how the reveal went.” He said with a huff. “Once the mission was over I was going to hold a meeting and just walk in. Tony of course would yell. Pepper would cry and maybe slap me. Bruce would be his normal calm self and would avoid me for a while. Steve would be disappointed at the lies but happy that I’m alive. Natasha will not be surprised since she assumes everyone lies but will punish me in some form later.”

“You were the only one who I couldn’t decide on. Would you punch me? Sit silent and watch with the thousand yard stare that unnerves everyone? Walk out? I never could decide how you would react. Heck, I never knew during missions how you would react. You jumped off buildings without a thought if it meant that you would save someone else. Disobeying every order if it meant that you could save a single life, even at the cost of your own. I never understood why you don’t seem to value yourself as highly as everyone else does.”

Clint twitched weakly, his good arm coming up to grip at Phil’s sleeve. Phil shifted him slightly so he could see his face. Clint’s grey pupils were ringed in blood from burst blood vessels making it hard to see where he was focusing. His normal light tan had disappeared, leaving a pale unhealthy look to his skin.

“Waking up, Agent Barton?” Phil asked, moving to slid out from under the man. Clint’s hand went white knuckled where it was holding on while a thin choked sound slipped from his throat making Phil freeze in place.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll stay here.” Shifting back the few inches he had moved. Clint slowly relaxed against him, eyes sliding back closed.

Two hours and another seizure later, Phil called in and got the coordinates for the pick up. He slid out from under Clint and left him to sleep while he packed up.

“Hey, Barton. Time to move.”

“Okay.” Clint slurred, staggering as Phil hauled him up.

They trudged through the forest as a slow pace. Clint was silent as they moved, all his concentration seeming to be focused on keeping his footing. By some miracle, he did not have a seizure in the hour it took them to reach the clearing. Phil had never been so relieved to see the bus waiting for him. Staggering on board they headed past the waiting medics and helped Clint to lay down on a stretcher. Phil made sure he was secure before moving to where Fury was waiting.

“How is he?”

“Bad.” Phil bit out. “We need to get him to a full hospital. Whatever they gave him is really messing him up. He’s been seizing on and off since I got him. Are the avengers in position?”

“Moving in as we speak.” Fury said with a grunt as Clint started thrashing. “I’ll get the bus moving.” Phil moved forward to catch Clint’s arm where he was trying to push one of the medics away.

“You’re in medical, Barton. Let the medics do their job.”

Clint slowly relaxed into his hold but twitched when the other hands touched him, like he had no idea anyone was standing there. Phil glanced at Fury with concern before turning back to Clint.

“I need a status report, Agent.” Phil barked, pushing Clint back down when he tried to sit up.

“Right wrist broken. Cracked ribs. Migraine. Prob concussion. Hard to talk. Can’t see. Everything’s blurry.” Clint reeled off haltingly, body tense and chest heaving.

“Stand down, Agent Barton. The medics are going to explain what they’re doing.”

“Yes, sir.” Clint murmured as he slowly relaxed. The medics moved in, explaining as they started to cut away the tape holding down his bad arm. They got him into sweats and his arm in a sling with IVs running before the next seizure hit.

“We’re running some tests on the blood we drew but so far nothing is flagging as a toxin or chemical he was given. We are also starting him on muscle relaxants to limit the damage done when he has a seizure. He should sleep for the rest of the trip.”

“I understand.” Phil said with a small nod. “Any idea what could be causing the seizures?”

“The best guess is a brain trauma of some kind. We’ll know more once we get somewhere that can do in depth scans.”

  
  



	8. Ch. 8

“I have twenty eight agents currently going through deconditioning thanks to subliminal mindfucks that were making them target Agent Barton. Tell me this is isolated to those that handled the Tesseract?” Fury said, shoving a stack of paperwork away.

“It’s more like it’s anyone who might have been on base at the time the Tesseract was near and had a susceptible neural framework for suggestion. I would recommend having anyone in the same location as the Tesseract be scanned.” A scientist said, picking up the stack and replacing it with another.

“See to it, Hill.”  
“Yes, sir.” She said taking the stack of research from the lab coated man. A knock at the door silenced the scientist who was about to continue. Fury waved him and Hill out with a small glare as Natasha strode into the office.

“Report, Agent. How’s the base?”

“Destroyed. Hulk didn’t enjoy finding out that Agent Barton had already been removed.”

“We had a team that was closer. They got him out and he’s getting tested and cared for. How exactly is that a bad thing, Agent Romanov?”

“There wasn’t a team closer.”

“Not one you were aware of, no.”

“And Phil Coulson was?”  
“Phil Coulson is dead, Agent as you well know.”

“Is he staying that way?”

“Agent Barton is in medical. I suggest you make sure the rest of your team knows the way. Dismissed, Agent.” Natasha watched him for a moment later before leaving. Once the door closed behind her another hidden panel opened behind Fury’s desk.

“She’s not going to let it go.”

“I thought we agreed that it was better for the Avengers if you stayed dead.” Fury said, not bothering to turn to face the man behind him.  
“No, sir. You said that.” Coulson said with a sigh, moving to the chair to one side of Fury’s desk. “I said that it was going to come back and bite Shield in the ass at some point.”

“Cheese.”

“No, You wanted me out and working and I was. I got both of your teams together and working. It’s time for me to step off the ride.”

“And what would that entail? Beyond coming out to the team?”

“That would depend on the team.”

“Stark’s going to want to steal you away.”

“I might let him.”  
“Oh, come on, Phil!”

“No, Marcus. I’m tired.” He said with a small smile. “Dying takes a lot out of you. I’m ready for a break.”

“When exactly are you planning to make the reveal?”  
“Once Clint’s stable.” Their phones pinged softly in unison from an incoming text message.

“Might want to move that up. They just took Barton back for emergency surgery.”

“The paperwork will be on your desk in a few days.” Phil snapped, striding to the door and moving through the halls at a brisk walk.

He ignored the stares and the few shouts that his appearance in the main hallways caused. Thankfully most of the base was composed of agents too well trained to do more than stare for a moment as he passed. Phil strode into the surgery observation bay, ignoring the strangled noises the other occupants made.

“Save the shouting for later.” He snapped, stopping at the window next to Natasha. “I don’t care what you think of me. I’m here for Barton, not you.”

“You are so getting punched once Barton’s out of surgery, Agent.” Tony snapped, typing violently at his phone.

“I’m sure I more than deserve it.”

“Clint gets the first punch.” Natasha said, her voice cold.

“Of course.”

“Agent?” Bruce asked from a back corner of the small room.

“Yeah, as in the opps I’m not really dead one. Agent Coulson meet Bruce Banner. Bruce, Agent.”

“Pleasure.” Phil ground out, his gaze never leaving the operation being performed below them. “What’s the surgery for?”

“They found his intracranial pressure was too high. Ran some tests and found two bleeders.” Tony said.

“Thank you.” Phil said shifting to lean against one corner. He was going to be here awhile.


	9. Ch. 9

Clint woke slowly. He knew he was in a hospital from the aseptic smell and the rough sheets pressing against him. It might even be Shield medical, he mused for a while, letting the drugs lull him back into a doze. He eventually surfaced when he heard several voices murmuring to one side. While he tried to convince his eyes to open, a door clicked open and several sets of feet left while a near silent stride settled back into a nearby chair. Natasha.

“Tasha?” Clint managed, a faint thread of sound, but she was already pressing a hand lightly against his arm and leaning forward so he could see her face.

“There you are. Everyone’s been worried, Hawk.”

She gave him a piece of ice and let him suck on that for a long moment while she fussed with something out of his line of sight. He was content to watch her fidget, even if it was not normal for her to do so.

“Found Phil.” He murmured, needing to make sure she knew.

“Yes, you did. The team is very angry at him right now but they will get over it eventually.”

“Fury.” He said with a sigh, accepting another small spoonful of ice chips.

“They are angry with him as well since it seems it was mostly his idea.”

“Lies.”

“Yes, they are learning that. Once you’re well we will have to decide what to do.” Clint hummed softly in confusion, why would they need to do anything? Phil was back.

“Phil is talking about leaving Shield, Clint. He wants to retire. We need to decide if we are going to follow him or not.”

Clint frowned trying to make sense of that. Phil was Shield, just like Shield was Phil. There was no separation. If one fell, the other would not last long. Fury had to know that. He opened his mouth to start asking questions only for a yawn to smother the words.

“Rest, Hawk. Phil will be back in a bit and you want to be strong enough to see him. We can discuss everything later.”

“Alright.” Clint said with another small yawn. He sent a small glare to the IV in the back of his hand as he settled back against the pillows.

“You scared everyone this time, Clint. You need to rest and heal before any major decisions are made. Leave it for now.”

“Okay. Damage?” he asked, remembering his arm. It was currently sporting a rather nice purple cast, he noted.

“They placed a stent, a drain, to relieve pressure on your brain and cauterized the blood vessels that hemorrhaged. You have been out for eight days. The doctors were starting to worry you wouldn’t wake up.” She said stroking a hand along an unmarked spot of skin on his neck. “You have a broken right wrist, torn tendons in your shoulder, and three cracked ribs.”

“How long?”

“How long until you can leave?” she asked, a small smile twitching her lips. He knew she was running through the many times he had been benched by medical. He always wanted to know when he could leave first thing. “Probably once they take the drain out.”

“Okay.” Clint hummed, blinking as he fought to keep his eyes open.

“Sleep, Hawk.” Natasha reminded him gently, brushing a feather light touch across his cheek. Clint gave into the pull of the drugs with a small grumble, closing his eyes to the worried eyes of his partner.

 

The next time Clint surfaced, Phil was sitting to one side working on a Stark Pad.

“Stayin’?” he coughed out, fighting against how dry his throat was.

“Say that again.” Phil murmured, giving him slow sips of icy water.

“You’re staying this time?”

“If you want me to, yes.” Phil offered with a small smile. “You had us worried, Barton.”

“You found me.” he murmured sleepily watching as Phil hit a button to call for the nurse.

“Stay awake for a bit. The doctor’s wanted to check you out once you woke.”

“M’kay.”

                        Clint lay there fuzzily watching the doctors swarm the room and start poking at him. He tried to answer their questions but he could feel his energy slipping away. After his fifth smothered yawn, Phil herded the physicians out of the room, Natasha slipping past them with a bag of take out.

“Eat.” she said, thrusting the bag at Phil. “The rest of the team is going to come over this afternoon for a visit so that you can shower and change.”

“Of course.” Phil agreed with a small sigh, setting his things aside and moving to a chair further away from the bed to eat the sandwich and coffee she’d brought.

“Hey, Tasha.” Clint murmured as Natasha took Phil’s chair next to the bed.

“Hawk,” she said with a small smile, touching the back of his arm for a moment. “How are you feeling?”

“Just tired.” Clint said with a small hum, taking in how worn the others were looking. Phil looked the worst, like he had not slept since Clint arrived at the hospital.

“Need anything?”

“No.” Clint said giving her a small smile. “Go get some sleep, Phil. You look awful.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No. Tasha, make him sleep. Take him to my floor at the tower.”

“I’m fine, Clint.”

“No, Tasha.” Clint started to argue back but was stopped by a coughing fit that left him hunched in on himself and gasping through the pain.

“I’ll make sure he rests, Barton. Relax.” Clint nodded stiffly, fighting to slow his breathing, wincing as his ribs protested every cough. Natasha disappeared for a moment while he got his breath back, returning a moment later, and a nurse following behind her.

“Don’t need any drugs, Tasha.”

“You’re in pain. You will take the meds so that I can take Phil to the tower.” Clint blinked at her rubbing at his face with his good hand.

“You’re so mean.”

“Completely evil.” She agreed as the nurse injected the syringe into his IV. “Get some sleep, Hawk.”

“That was a bit mean.” Phil pointed out, gathering up the wrappers from his lunch. He glanced over at the bed but Clint was already limp with sleep.

“This way he’ll sleep for at least two hours. We can go to the tower. You can sleep until six and then stay the night here.”

“The other Avengers don’t want to stay?”

“They are going to visit around four. If things stay calm Steve wants to arrange shifts so there is always someone here for him. They’re going to discuss it later today.”

“I thought they were already doing that.”

“They wanted to allow both of us more time with him so they backed off.”

“Really?” Phil asked with skepticism.

“They knew he meant something to you. You were willing to quit Shield in order to see him, Phil.”

“Fury’s still arguing with me over that. He wants me to become a consultant and work out of the tower now.”

“It’s not the worst idea.” She said, gathering up his garment bag for him. “You would be near Clint as he recovers and could work as a liaison between Shield and the team.”

“I was envisioning more of a clean break.”

“If Clint stays with the Avengers or Shield you would be doing the same job. You just might not get paid for it.”

“You may have a point.” Phil said with a sigh. “It really depends on what Clint decides once he’s better. I could do either but at this point I am retiring from Shield. I might consult or work for Stark or somewhere else but Shield is going to have to learn do without me.”

 

 

***

 

            Clint fought with himself not to follow after Phil when he left the room to go clean up. They were back at the tower now with everyone slowly settling back into their normal rhythms, or as normal as the team ever got. Clint just wasn’t sure how to slot Phil back into his life now that he’d spent the last year getting over his loss.

            Phil had tried to retire only for Fury to put him on indefinite administrative leave with pay. Tony had his legal team coming up with contracts and scenarios if Phil decided to force the issue but for now he was letting it be. For now he was working with Miss Potts and the other Avengers to help manage their media presence and as a liaison with Shield, since none of the others was willing to step foot on base with how often they had been lied to.

            Clint wasn’t sure what to do. Natasha and him were on leave until his injuries healed but did they really want to leave Shield? He’d said several times that it just wasn’t home anymore with Coulson dead and now that he was alive and leaving Shield could it really be a safe place for them?

            He wanted to corner both of them and force everyone to talk but now that they were all in the same building Phil seemed to be avoiding him. Phil watched him with this strange blank expression whenever they were in the same room before fleeing on any and every excuse. Clint was ready to grab him and start shaking until answers fell out if it kept up.

            Natasha had returned to work as Miss Potts assistant until things settled down letting Tony relax and start rebuilding his company knowing that the Black Widow would keep her safe. Steve was taking college courses at several of the Universities in town and Bruce was back to being eternally holed up in one of SI’s labs working on cures for radiation exposure. Clint was the only one at loose ends while he did his physical therapy and waited for his arm to heal.

            He finally managed to corner Natasha and Phil on his floor by having Jarvis invite them to a late dinner one night and sealing his floor once everyone arrived. Chinese takeout was waiting on the table with plates and silverware ready since Clint wasn’t up to chopsticks yet. Natasha merely raised an eyebrow at him when he punched in the lockdown code but he thought Phil looked a bit pale.

 

“I take it there was a reason you wanted us to have dinner together?” Natasha prompted as they each took a seat and started serving themselves.

“We need to talk.” Clint said simply, fighting with a fork to cut a piece of broccoli.

“What did you need to talk about?” Phil asked his mild mannered mask back up in full.

“After dinner, if we talk now no one’s going to eat.”

“Very well,” Natasha said dishing herself some fried rice and vegetables, “After dinner we will have drinks and talk.”

“Good.”

            They ate in silence for most of the meal, each small attempt at conversation quickly falling flat. The cleanup went smoothly with years of practice from staying in safe houses together and sharing duties. They moved around each other without a hint of hesitation until the drinks were poured and seats taken in the living room.

“You wanted us to talk, Hawk.” Natasha said pointedly when the silence had gone on too long.

“Yeah,” Clint said with a huff taking a last sip of his beer and setting the bottle down, “I want to know what you want to do, Phil. You came and got me when I was captured, you sat with me when I was injured but now it’s like you’re hiding from me when we both live in the same building.”

“I’m not hiding.” Phil said grabbing the wine bottle and refilling his glass ignoring the frown the action caused from his former assets, he normally didn’t drink around them since nether had good memories when it came to drunks.

“Well, it sure feels like it since I can’t ever seem to have two seconds alone with you before you’re bombing out the door on some crazy errand. We need to decide if Nat and I are leaving Shield and I can’t get you to stand still long enough to even say hello.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to avoid both of you, I just needed some time to think things through. Whenever I thought about coming back I never imagined it would be because one of you were injured.”

“So you wanted to come back?”  
“I wanted you informed from the first but Fury overruled me and since I was recovering myself I let it stand. Then I was so busy with the new team he started and you both seemed to be adjusting that I let things stand. I should have refused the assignment but it was a good idea to have a mobile command unit working outside of Shield’s immediate jurisdiction.”

“So you were too busy to tell us you were alive.”  
“I trusted the system.” Phil said with a huff, pushing out of the chair and starting to pace to one side after draining his wine glass, “Shield was everything to me and then suddenly I found out I was part of an experimental regeneration project that I had advised Fury to scrap years ago. A program that I thought was too barbaric to be used safely was used on me without my consent by a man who I thought was my friend.”

“So you ran away.” Natasha said with a frown watching their former handler pace like was in the middle of a mental breakdown.

“Yes, I… I didn’t want you to get hurt any more then I already had. People were guaranteed to come after me once they realized I was alive. Especially if they realized what had been done to me.”

“But you’re here now.” Clint said softly. “We’re in just as much danger as we ever were; we just have more people in our corner now, Phil.”

“It’s not safe, Clint.”

“No, the team could have tossed me to the curb at any time and they didn’t. You left us and we had to keep going. We kept moving and kept fighting just like you did. I don’t want you to run from us again if it means you’re in danger where we can’t reach you.”

“I don’t even fully understand what was done to me, Clint. I could hurt you.”

“Then you hurt me but I’m not letting you leave without one hell of a better reason then you don’t want to hurt me, Phil. Everyone I’ve ever loved has left me. I want you to stay.”

“You love me?” Phil said coming to a stop in shock. “You can’t love me.”

“I’ve loved you for years, Phil; I just figured that you were too good for me to ever get close enough for it to mean anything. It doesn’t have to mean anything but don’t say you’re leaving so I won’t get hurt because I will be hurt if you leave, I was gutted when I thought you were dead, Phil. I’m not doing that again.”

“You never said anything.” Phil said taking a seat next to Clint on the couch.

“Alright, you two hash out the relationship issues and call me when you want to start talking employment options.” Natasha said with a huff getting up and heading toward the door.

“I’ll catch you after your shift with Pepper tomorrow.” Clint said not bothering to watch her leave, his eyes never leaving Phil’s as the elevator pinged closed behind her.

“I never thought you would have wanted me, I mean, look at me.”

“What do you mean? You’re prefect. You’re the most bad ass agent I know, the only one Natasha and I trust at our back in a fight. Why the hell wouldn’t I want you?”

“I’m a middle aged man with no hair, soon to be no job, and I made a lifestyle of being average. Why would anyone as amazing as you want me?”

“I’m not amazing.” Clint said blinking.  
“But you are.” Phil insisted.

“Then so are you.” Clint said stubbornly, “If you can think that an uneducated high school dropout ex-carney assassin is amazing then I can think you are too.”

“We’ve talked about you bad mouthing yourself before, you’re wonderful.”

“And so are you so why can’t I love you?”

“I…”

“Give me one good reason and it can’t because you’ll put me in danger. We’re always going to be in danger, Phil. It’s the only way we know how to live at this point.”

“You might be right.” Phil conceded with a sigh, collapsing into couch next to Clint.

“So, do you want to be in a relationship with me?” Clint asked hesitantly feeling like he was twelve again asking the daughter of the trapeze act out for cotton candy.

“If you’re willing to have me.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Any time you want.”

 

 

***

 

Two years later.

 

“About time you two stopped living in sin.” Tony said with a smirk, toasting them with his champagne flute.

“Glad we had you vote of approval, Stark.” Phil said deadpan waiting until Pepper came by to tug Tony away to turn back to the man in his arms.

“Regrets, Husband?”

“Never, Husband. I told you that first night I’d take whatever you would give me. This is just a bonus.”

“So you don’t mind us making it official? I know you never had the best view of marriage.”

“People just don’t take it seriously enough. I’m willing to work on keeping you for the rest of my life, ring or not.”

“Want to ditch the party and make out like teenagers?”  
“You always come up with the best plans, sir.”

“Keep up the sass and I’ll reserve the rest of my plan for the next night.”

“Shutting up, sir.” Clint said with a smirk grinning up at his new husband.

“Brat.” Phil said fondly pressing a kiss against one corner of his mouth.

“Your brat.” Clint agreed nipping at Phil’s bottom lip.

“Till death do us part,” Phil muttered before pushing Clint up against the wall and losing himself in the taste of his partner, asset, friend, and husband.


End file.
